17. Clara
17
Bartie licked his ice cream and shifted on the picnic rug. ‘I bet tourists go ape over that church. What is it, three hundred years old? Four hundred?’
‘Older than that,’ said Clara. ‘Eight hundred, I think. We can have a look inside if you like. And the graveyard’s interesting, if you fancy finding out more about the people who used to live in this village.’
‘No, you’re all right,’ said Bartie, amusement crossing his face. ‘I tend not to visit graveyards when I’m on a date.’
Were they on a date? wondered Clara, lifting hair from the nape of her neck so the breeze blowing through Heaven’s Cove could cool her skin. If so, it was the hottest date ever, though not in a good way. The clouds had parted in the last half hour, the sun was blazing down and the temperature was rising.
Bartie, looking as cool as ever, finished his ice cream, stretched out on the picnic rug and put his hands behind his head.
‘So, Heaven’s Cove is just as I remember it – quaint and pretty, like something out of a fairy tale.’
‘A fairy tale peopled with hundreds of tourists,’ laughed Clara, watching a group of visitors peering at the Mourning Stone, an old stone on the green which marked an ancient local tragedy. The summer season was burgeoning and Heaven’s Cove was bustling. ‘Anyway, shall we start discussing the fete? Or would you rather wait for River? You did tell him that the picnic was at quarter past twelve rather than one o’clock, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, I mentioned it to him this morning but he was busy at the time.’
‘With his dad?’
‘No, some long-distance phone call from a girlfriend,’ said Bartie airily, wiping drips of ice cream from the neck of his T shirt.
‘Really? I didn’t know he had a girlfriend. He never mentioned it.’
‘He’s keeping it quiet while he’s here. Not too keen on the old man finding out for some reason. But I get the feeling that it’s serious.’
Clara felt bizarrely let down. Of course River had a girlfriend waiting for him in Australia, and there was no reason why he would have mentioned her. Once upon a time, Clara and River had known everything about each other’s lives, but it was different now.
‘Do you know what? I’m not sure River will turn up at all,’ said Bartie. ‘He can be quite unreliable these days, now his life’s elsewhere, but let’s give him another five minutes.’
He sat up and stretched his arms over his head, causing the bottom of his T-shirt to ride up, revealing a toned stomach that had presumably seen plenty of action at the gym. He smiled and shuffled a little closer on the picnic rug.
‘In the meantime, what’s happened to you over the years, Clara Netherway? As my grandma used to say, are you courting?’
‘Me? No. I’ve had boyfriends, of course.’
‘But no one serious?’
‘Not really. I seem to have kissed a lot of frogs in my time. Well…not lots of frogs.’ She stopped. Did that make it sound as if she was going out with every Tom, Dick or Harry who asked her? ‘What I mean is?—’
‘I know what you mean,’ said Bartie softly, leaning towards her.
‘What about you?’ Clara asked, her voice sounding higher than usual.
‘Footloose and fancy-free.’
‘So no one special then?’
A shadow crossed his face. ‘There was a woman a while back who broke my heart.’
‘What was her name?’ When Bartie hesitated, Clara kicked herself for asking. ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business.’
‘No, you’re fine,’ said Bartie, stroking her arm. ‘She was called Kitty and we broke up last summer. It was tough at the time but I’m over her now. Just about, and finally deciding to risk my heart again.’
Clara swallowed because Bartie really was very close, and he was staring into her eyes.
‘Anyway,’ he murmured, ‘enough about me. What else have you been up to since we were teenagers way back when?’
‘Not a lot,’ she managed, not breaking eye contact. ‘This and that. You know. Stuff. Grown-up stuff.’
She stopped talking, feeling stupid. Sixteen years ago, she’d dreamed of Bartie taking an interest in her life, not realising that it would turn her into an incoherent idiot.
‘Grown-up stuff.’ Bartie raised an eyebrow, and leaned forward until his mouth was almost brushing hers. ‘That sounds exciting. What kind of grown-up stuff?’ he whispered.
‘Responsibilities, really,’ said Clara, feeling distinctly jittery. ‘My dad had severe disabilities following a stroke, and he and Mum needed my support until he died last year.’
‘Oh, right.’ Bartie sat up straight again. ‘That sounds very…erm, grown up and challenging.’
‘Yeah, it was,’ said Clara, berating herself for ruining what had appeared to be ‘a moment’ between them. Bringing up death was always going to do that. ‘Tell me more about you,’ she said, trying to rescue the situation.
‘Well, what is there to tell?’ said Bartie languidly, a smile playing on his lips.
‘Have you been to Brellasham Manor much over the last few years? I haven’t seen you.’
The smile faded. ‘Not as much as I’d have liked. Life gets in the way, doesn’t it. Especially when you’re working to build your career, as I’ve been doing. I’m doing rather well now – lots of irons in the business fire, a flat in London and a great social life. But, without someone special to share it with, it all feels a little hollow sometimes. Do you know what I mean? I’m still looking for that one person who gets me for who I truly am. That’s why I feel drawn to you, Clara. Not only have you turned into an extremely attractive woman – a swan, if you like – you know me. After we’ve been friends for so long, you really know me.’
Clara wasn’t sure that she really did, but she nodded anyway, glowing at being called a swan. Though that did imply she’d once been an ugly duckling.
‘Clara Netherway, are you listening to me?’ asked Bartie. He gently brushed his finger beneath her chin. ‘I don’t know what it is but there’s something about you, some magnetism, that’s attracting me. Don’t you feel it too?’
He was so close now, Clara could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Her fifteen-year-old self would have been thrilled, and her thirty-one-year-old self felt pretty excited about it too.
Bartie leaned ever closer. He was going to kiss her. That was obvious. And Clara wanted him to kiss her. Who wouldn’t want dashing Bartie to pull them into an embrace? So why was her first thought, as his lips landed, I hope Mum isn’t walking past right now?
Her mother probably wouldn’t approve of Clara fraternising with what she deemed the ‘upper classes’.
Concentrate! Clara told herself, closing her eyes as Bartie’s arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her hard against him. This is what your teenage self could only dream about.
Bartie’s hand was pushing through her hair now, and the kiss was lovely, if she actually let herself focus on it. A bit forceful, perhaps. He was pressing her backwards, lowering her down onto the rug, and she felt his heavy body cover her as the kiss went on.
This was all very unexpected and exciting, but not entirely appropriate for a public place at lunchtime in Heaven’s Cove.
When Bartie’s hand slipped beneath her T-shirt and she felt his fingers on the bare skin at her waist, she opened her eyes and shifted her head slightly.
‘You OK, babe?’ he asked, still heavy on top of her.
‘I just feel a bit awkward. It’s very public around here. I thought we were meeting up for a picnic and a chat. I didn’t realise that…you know.’
Bartie stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head.
‘Sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to get so carried away but I can’t help feeling that there’s something special between us. Maybe there was years ago as well, but we were both too young to recognise that we could be good together. I suggest we resume this, er…chat’ – he smiled – ‘in a more private place in the very near future. I’m going to be around for a while, until the sale of the manor house is underway.’
‘OK,’ said Clara, pulling down her T-shirt and swallowing hard. Now the kiss was over, excitement was giving way to awkwardness. ‘Do you think your developer contact will want to buy the manor?’
Bartie brushed his fringe from his hot forehead. ‘I expect so. It’s an amazing opportunity for a top-class development in a beautiful, secluded location, and I know this developer will offer above the odds for it.’
‘Will the developer just focus on the house? They won’t build in the grounds, will they?’
‘No, absolutely not. I’ve made it very clear to the developer that the grounds are out of bounds and need to be preserved. That’s one of Geoffrey’s sale stipulations.’
‘I’m not surprised because he loves his gardens, and it would break his heart if they were destroyed.’ A thought suddenly struck Clara. ‘Once the development of the manor house is finished, I know the grounds will be private property but do you think the developer might give us permission to hold the charity fete in the grounds every year?’
‘That is a definite possibility.’ Bartie suddenly sat up straight. ‘Actually, I’ve just had a brilliant idea. There’s no reason why your cottage should have to be demolished if the grounds are being preserved, and it’s far enough away from the manor that I can’t see it would matter if you and your mum stayed there.’
‘Really?’ Clara felt her heart speeding up. ‘That would be amazing. My mum would be so happy to stay in the house because it holds so many happy memories for her. And also, there’s the whole being homeless and having to find somewhere else thing.’
‘Of course.’ Bartie gave her a bright, white smile. ‘No promises, but I’ll do what I can, for your mum but mostly for you.’
‘Thank you. I’d be so grateful.’
‘Yeah.’ Bartie leaned forward again and kissed her briefly on the lips. ‘And now I’ve got to go.’
‘I thought we were going to discuss this year’s fete.’
‘I’d love to, but there’s a lot to do before the developer arrives, especially if I need to twist their arm about your cottage. That’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Of course,’ said Clara, feeling it would be ungrateful in the extreme to complain when he’d just promised to try and save her home.
When he reached across her, to grab a bottle of water, Clara spotted River at the far side of the green. He’d come after all.
She raised her hand, to beckon him over, but gasped when cold water sploshed over her legs.
‘Sorry,’ said Bartie, picking up the large bottle which had fallen onto its side. ‘I hadn’t put the top back on properly. Who are you waving at?’
Clara squinted into the distance but River was nowhere to be seen.
‘No one. I thought I saw River but I must have been wrong.’
‘Never mind. He probably got tied up on another call to his girlfriend. Will you be all right here on your own?’ he asked, getting to his feet and brushing the creases out of his chinos.
‘Of course.’
‘’Til the next time, babe, when I look forward to us being in a more private location.’
Bartie cupped her warm cheek in his hand before sauntering off across the grass.
Clara watched him go before lying back on the picnic rug and staring at the sky. Bartie had just kissed her and called her babe – twice. She laughed out loud, imagining her expression at fifteen if she’d known then what was going to happen in the future. She also pictured River’s adolescent face and him miming sticking two fingers down his throat at what he would deem Bartie’s cheesy chat-up lines.
There had been no chat at all before River had taken her by surprise and kissed her as they’d sat by the stream in the darkness.
Clara huffed out loud, cross with herself for thinking of River when he hadn’t even bothered to turn up for the picnic. She would think of Bartie instead, she decided, closing her eyes against the glare of the sun. Bartie, who had kissed her and who was doing his best to save the cottage that she and her mum called home.